


this was no accident; this was a therapeutic chain of events

by texaswatermelon



Category: Glee
Genre: F/F, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-27
Updated: 2012-09-27
Packaged: 2017-11-15 03:26:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/522629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/texaswatermelon/pseuds/texaswatermelon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>She supposes that it’s just something Rachel needs, the same way that she needs to feel someone’s pulse under her hand or blood under her nails to really feel alive.  She knows it’s not</em> normal<em>, but if anything about her life was normal she’d still be Lucy Fabray and her nose would still resemble a potato and she wouldn’t have anything even remotely resembling stretch marks on her body.</em></p><p>Slight Rachel/Finn, Rachel/OFC, Quinn/OFC</p>
            </blockquote>





	this was no accident; this was a therapeutic chain of events

**Author's Note:**

> I woke up one morning with this idea in my head, which tells you just how fucked up my subconscious apparently is. Inspired mostly by discussions of Serial Killer!Quinn on Tumblr. This does not have a happy ending. I’ve taken some liberties with the Lucy timeline, because idgaf. Unbeta’d, as per usual. Please enjoy, or like, try I guess.
> 
> **Warnings for bloodplay and descriptions of extremely rough sex.**

Lucy Quinn Fabray had known her lot in life since she walked into a hospital the summer before eighth grade as Lucy and walked out with a bandage over the swollen pulp that would become her new nose as Quinn.  She would lose the last fifteen pounds that were keeping her from fitting into her sister’s old jeans.  She would join the middle school cheering squad in Lima and use it to prepare her for the big leagues on Sue Sylvester’s Cheerios, which she would become captain of by the beginning of her sophomore year.  She would find the prettiest, most popular girls on the squad and convince them to fall in line behind her (and if they happened to actually like her and want to be her friends that would be okay, too).  She would get a boyfriend on the football team to fall so far in love with her that he wouldn’t even dream of looking at other girls no matter how much she refused to put out.  She would lead her squad to nationals every year until she graduated.  She would remain celibate until marriage, win Prom Queen junior _and_ senior year, make her mother and father proud of her like they were of her sister.  She would graduate within the top ten of her class, marry her high school sweetheart, become a successful real estate agent and have no more than three children, all of whom would be baptized in the same church that she was.

It would be the most miserable life ever led by a human being and she would drink herself into oblivion by the time she was fifty, but it’s what’s expected of her and it would make her daddy proud.

It’s the beginning of senior year now, and the vast majority of that list has been fucked all to hell.  She’s been cheated on by two boyfriends and cheated on two in return.  She’s had sex, gotten pregnant at sixteen, and given up the only person she ever loved for adoption.  She’s been called filthy, awful names by her father and ignored by her mother, kicked out of her house, and let back in again.  She’s left the Cheerios twice, fallen far too many rungs down the social ladder, and lost her crown to a boy.

Quinn knows, logically, that many of these mishaps are her own fault, but that doesn’t stop her from searching for someone else to blame.  She and Finn hurt each other in kind, and while she hates him for loving someone other than her, she’s kind of glad she’s not stuck with him anymore.  She hates feeling like she’s talking to a fourth-grader when she spends time with her boyfriend.  Puck was an asshole for not wearing a condom, but she _let him_ , so it’s just as much her fault as it is his, and she should have known better than to ever expect him to be faithful.  Sam’s only fault was that he didn’t have enough popularity for it to be worth sitting through his impressions and flirting in Na’vi.  She supposes she could blame Santana for getting Sam to clue in on her cheating, but it’s not like she didn’t deserve it for telling Coach about the boob job.  That only leaves one other person in all of this mess to blame besides herself.

Hating Rachel Berry is so easy for Quinn.  Rachel is annoying; she tries too hard and wants things too much.  She dresses like a toddler and talks like a pretentious cunt who swallowed a Scrabble board and then snorted a line of coke.  But that’s just why everyone else hates her.  Quinn hates her because Rachel is nothing more than a thinner, prettier version of Lucy Fabray.  Everyone _hated_ Lucy.  They teased her and humiliated her until she had no choice but to retreat—to disappear into another person altogether.  Even her parents hated her until she managed to kill herself: commit suicide as Lucy and be reborn as Quinn.

But Rachel—Rachel gets everything that Lucy never had and that Quinn could never maintain.  She has parents who love and support her, who encourage her to chase her dreams rather than settle for a fragile imitation of perfection.  She has the love of half the boys that Quinn’s ever been with and the respect of the entire glee club, even if none of them will admit it.  And she’s never had to change a fucking thing about herself to get any of it.  The thing that Quinn hates the most is that she’s never wanted to.

Rachel has the misfortune to come across her while she’s thinking about these things.  She’s hiding out in the bathroom during third period because she can’t really stand watching Finn just sit there and grin stupidly at Rachel the entire period while Puck and Lauren try to see which one of them can shoot the biggest spit ball before getting yelled at and Sam and Mercedes pass love notes back and forth and Santana and Brittany practically mount one another beside her.  So of course the one chance she has to get away from all of that bullshit gets interrupted by Rachel fucking Berry.

Quinn sees how it takes just a second too long for her to wipe that lovesick grin off of her face when she notices Quinn standing there against the sink, and just… snaps.  Before she even has time to register what’s happening, her hand is shooting out and grabbing Rachel’s arm, pulling her in close.  Rachel’s eyes go almost comically wide and she tries to pull away, but Quinn just grips her arm tighter.

“Quinn, what are you—”

“What is it about you, Rachel?” she asks, and her voice is far too calm and clinical for a situation like this.  “Why do you get to have everything without even trying while I’ve worked so hard just to end up empty-handed?”

“Quinn, please, you’re hurting me,” Rachel pleads softly.

Quinn stares at Rachel’s face and tightens her grip even further, digging her nails into the soft skin of Rachel’s forearm until she thinks she’s drawn blood.  Rachel’s eyes grow even wider and a soft gasp escapes her lips.  She looks positively terrified and it makes Quinn’s heart race and the blood rush low to her belly.  Rachel’s eyes flicker down to where Quinn is holding her and Quinn follows her gaze, seeing little pools of blood welling up around her fingernails.  When Rachel’s eyes find hers again, there’s something new in them—something dark and primal that makes Quinn’s stomach twist again and causes a pool of wetness to settle between her legs.  It surprises her so much that she actually lets go.

Rachel is gone in an instant, the door to the bathroom swinging shut behind her.  The only sound is that of Quinn’s shallow breathing echoing off the walls as she turns to wash the blood out from under her fingernails and tries to stop her hands from shaking.

xx

The next day Rachel wears a sweater to school even though the temperature is upwards of seventy degrees.  She doesn’t make eye contact with Quinn once the entire day and Quinn doesn’t spend any extended amount of time in the bathrooms.

xx

On Saturday Finn and Kurt throw a party to celebrate the start of the glee season.  Quinn only goes because Brittany wants to go, and Santana insists that Quinn will not leave her alone in a house full of drunken gleetards.  Not even two hours later Santana is off her tits drunk and fully immersed in a lap dance courtesy of Brittany.  Quinn sits in a corner nursing her third drink of the night and watches all of the couples frolic around and engage in various stages of fornication.  Even Artie seems to be drunk enough that he doesn’t really mind watching his two ex-girlfriends make out with other people.

When Quinn can’t really handle it anymore she goes upstairs and dumps her drink down the sink.  Brittany made it for her after she’d already had six of her own and it tastes awful.  She goes to the freezer to get some ice and notices a tub of cookie dough ice cream half-hidden under a bag of frozen peas.  It only takes a second of deliberation for her to decide to forego the ice and wedge the ice cream out of its hiding place.  The ice cream is slightly freezer burnt, which is just her luck of course, but she grabs a spoon anyway and sits down at the kitchen table to drown her sorrows in five thousand calories of pure heaven.

Her brooding is interrupted less than ten minutes later by someone stumbling up through the basement door.  She plans on ignoring them—it’s probably just someone going to the bathroom—but then Rachel crashes into the kitchen so hard that she has to grab the counter just to keep from flying into it.  She leans over it and cackles at herself drunkenly for a few moments before straightening and looking around the kitchen.  Her eyebrows fly up into her hairline when she notices Quinn sitting there.

“Quinn!  I’m so sorry.  I didn’t see you there.  I sincerely hope that you’re enjoying the party,” she says, swaying a little as she moves to stand in front of her.  Quinn doesn’t respond, just stares.  “Are you eating dairy?  Quinn, I feel that I must infer— _inform_ you of the horrors of animal cruelty that factor into the production of that ice cream that you are currently enjoying.”

Rachel’s expression is one of self-righteous indignation.  She goes to move forward, probably to confiscate the ice cream, but ends up tripping over her own feet and toppling forward.  Quinn reaches out to stop her from falling on pure instinct (and because she really doesn’t want to be held responsible if Rachel cracks her head open and gets blood all over Kurt’s kitchen) and ends up grasping at Rachel’s arm while Rachel tumbles into her lap.

Rachel hisses loudly, and Quinn doesn’t understand what the hell her problem is since she basically just saved this troll’s life, until she sees Rachel looking down at where Quinn is holding her arm and realizes that she’s got a tight grip on the exact spot that she’d marked with her fingernails earlier in the week.

“Sorry,” she mutters, though she’s not sorry really, and tries to let go, but then Rachel’s hand is wrapping around her own, forcing her to squeeze _harder_.  Quinn stares up at her, uncomprehending as she tries to hear past the blood rushing through her ears.  Rachel’s hand keeps tightening around her own and there are clearly tears of pain welling in her eyes, but she just keeps pressing until Quinn’s own hand starts to hurt, too.  Quinn shifts her fingers so that her nails are pressing into the exact same spots as before through Rachel’s shirt, hoping that maybe Rachel will let her go, but Rachel’s head tips back and she actually lets out a breathy little moan.  When she looks back at Quinn her pupils are blown so wide they’re all that Quinn can see and she suddenly understands what’s happening.  It makes her wet instantly.

She shoots them both out of the chair they’re sitting on and slams Rachel into the nearest counter.  Rachel whimpers her encouragement.  She lets go of Quinn’s hand and reaches down for the other, bringing it up to rest near her throat.  Quinn doesn’t need any instruction or any permission; she tightens her hand around Rachel’s neck immediately until she can feel Rachel’s pulse pounding there, feel her throat muscles struggling as she attempts to swallow and breathe.  She keeps her other hand wrapped around that spot on Rachel’s forearm and just stares at her face, her breath heavy and her heart beating wildly against her chest.

“Hey, Rach, where’d you—”

Quinn is too slow to jump away and it only takes one look at them, at Rachel’s wide, watery eyes and the red handprint on her neck and Quinn’s flushed cheeks and heaving chest, for Finn to understand that something is not right.  His expression darkens and he rushes toward them, towering over Quinn even as he slumps slightly in his inebriated state.

“What the hell did you do to her?” he demands loudly.

Quinn doesn’t say anything.  She doesn’t know what _to_ say.

“It’s okay, Finn,” Rachel cuts in.  Her voice is a bit strained and it’s clear that she’s struggling for breath.  “We were just talking.”

“ _That_ doesn’t look like talking,” Finn yells, pointing at Rachel’s neck.  Rachel actually fucking _blushes_ , like she has the right to be embarrassed about this while her boyfriend is half ready to beat the shit out of Quinn.

“Finn, please calm down.  This is all just a misunderstanding and I don’t think we should be talking like this while everyone is inebriated.  Let’s just go back downstairs and have a good time.”

Finn must have actually learned something about being a good boyfriend over the summer because he doesn’t seem willing to let it go.

“Rachel,” he starts, but she interrupts him.

“Please, Finn,” she pleads and gives him this stupid pouty face that must actually work for him because he finally huffs and mutters _fine_ darkly before pulling her towards the stairs.  He turns around just before they get there and shoots Quinn a heavy glare.

“I don’t know what your problem is, but stay the hell away from my girlfriend,” he warns.  Quinn stays silent as Rachel tugs him down the stairs.

She leaves five minutes later without saying goodbye.

xx

Finn doesn’t seem to have any memory of what happened the next day and Rachel manages to cover what’s left of the fading mark on her neck with a little bit of makeup.  They spend the day hanging out with each other at the mall and back at Finn’s house, where they make out for a little while before Rachel finally gets too frustrated and pushes him off of her.  It’s not that Finn is a bad kisser, but he’s too soft about it.  Rachel keeps imagining a set of long, thin fingers twisting into her arm, making her bleed, and another set curling around her throat and cutting off her air supply until she gets lightheaded and dizzy.  Instead all she gets are heavy, clumsy hands caressing the sides of her body like he’s afraid she’ll break if he touches her any harder.  She _wishes_ he would try to break her.

She leaves after an hour of watching him blow things up on his Xbox and resists the urge to punch him in the face when he just shoots her a dopy grin and kisses her on the cheek.

When she gets home she goes straight up to her room and hits the shower.  She tries not to wince when she runs the washcloth over the angry red half-moon marks on her arm.  They had been on their way to healing until last night.  Now they’re freshly scabbed over again and extra sensitive.

Rachel closes her eyes and remembers that wave of pain that hit her when Quinn had grabbed her there on accident, remembers the pure confusion on her face as Rachel urged her to squeeze tighter, and the way it snapped into pure arousal when Quinn realized what Rachel was trying to get her to do.  After years of mental torture and emotional abuse, Rachel had finally gotten Quinn to hurt her for real, and it had been the biggest turn on putting her life in Quinn’s hands and watching Quinn relish in that power.

Before Rachel knows it her hand is sliding down her belly and rubbing furiously against her clit.  She angles her other arm so that the spray of water hits the wounds there full force and moans loudly at the stinging pain that shoots through her.  Her stomach coils tightly and all she has to do is imagine Quinn’s eyes swirling darkly as she chokes her before she’s crying out and slumping heavily against the shower wall.  She finishes up quickly and gets ready to go set up for her new MySpace video.

xx

Quinn finds a note in her locker Monday afternoon that reads simply:

_I would greatly appreciate it if you would come to my house today after school._

_Sincerely,_

_RB_

Considering the fact that Rachel hasn’t given any indication that she even knows that Quinn _exists_ today, it’s kind of weird.  She fully intends to ignore it—who knows what Rachel has planned?  She could be setting Quinn up to be ambushed by two angry fathers and an army of lawyers—except that Rachel walks past her while she’s throwing her bag into the back of her car and says, “You can follow me.  My dads don’t get home until late, so we’ll be alone,” like it’s the most normal thing in the world and just keeps walking until she gets to her own car and gets in.

Quinn has been to Rachel’s house several times before, but following her there now feels sort of like making a huge decision that she can never take back.  She parks her car on the side of the street, waits in silence while Rachel unlocks the door and follows her inside.  The place is empty, just like Rachel promised, so Quinn guesses that this isn’t some kind of trick to get her in trouble.

“Would you like something to eat?” Rachel asks, and the way she tosses her head back over her shoulder but doesn’t really look at Quinn is so _weird_ and anti-Rachel that Quinn just mutters a quick refusal.  Rachel is already halfway up the stairs anyway.

When they actually get to Rachel’s room they just stand there in silence for several long minutes.  Quinn looks around for lack of anything better to do, but nothing has actually changed since the last time she was here trying to help Rachel write a song for regionals.  She’s just about to turn around and ask Rachel what the hell she’s doing here exactly when she’s met with Rachel’s lips pressed roughly into her own and, oh, _that’s_ what this is about.  Okay.

Quinn puts her hands on either side of Rachel’s face and kisses her back harshly, because she’s already fallen as far and as hard as she possibly can, and if Rachel wants to do this then Quinn isn’t going to hesitate.  She’s spent too much of her life doing what everyone else expects her to and not enough of what she wants.  And right now what she wants is to put her hand around Rachel’s throat and fuck her until she passes out.

Quinn pushes Rachel hard enough that she stumbles backwards and falls on top of the bed.  She pulls her shirt over her head and tosses it aside before crawling on top of Rachel, whose eyes are already dark with arousal.  She grabs the hem of Rachel’s shirt and tugs roughly until it comes off, ignoring the muffled sound that Rachel makes when it catches against her nose, and then gets rid of her skirt in the same manner.  Rachel lies back onto the bed and Quinn follows, kissing her again as hard as she can, forcing her tongue into Rachel’s mouth as far as it will go.  She bites down on Rachel’s bottom lip, _hard_ , and tastes the tang of blood only a moment later as Rachel whimpers into her.

“Put your hands on me,” Rachel says breathlessly, her lip glistening red where Quinn bit it.  Quinn puts her hand against Rachel’s side, digs the heel of it in, but Rachel only squirms away.  “Use your nails,” she instructs, so Quinn starts at Rachel’s knee and sinks her nails in, dragging them all the way up Rachel’s thigh, past her underwear and across the sensitive skin of her stomach.  The most obscene moan rips its way from Rachel’s throat that makes Quinn soak just to hear it and she drops her head to Rachel’s shoulder and sinks her teeth in there to see if she can make her do it again.  She does, several times, for each pass that Quinn makes up her side with her nails and for each harsh bite that leaves bruises on her skin.

“Fuck, _harder_ , Quinn,” Rachel pants.  “Make me bleed.”

Quinn doesn’t know _what_ Rachel wants harder, so she stops everything for a moment while she strips Rachel completely and then gets rid of the rest of her own clothes as well.  Rachel’s chest is heaving like she just ran twelve miles and her eyes have glazed over completely.  There are angry red welts the entire way up her shoulders and chest where she bit down without mercy.  It is the single most arousing thing that Quinn has ever seen, and apparently Rachel agrees because she’s clearly just as wet as Quinn is.

“Please, Quinn, I need you to fuck me right now.”

For the briefest, fleeting moment Quinn wonders if Rachel has even had sex before, but one glance at the blood drying on her lips and she decides that she doesn’t care.  Rachel is clearly sober, or at least she hasn’t been drinking anything, and if she wants to do this Quinn isn’t going to be the one to question her.  She swoops down and recaptures Rachel’s lips, making sure to drag her teeth across the cut there so that it reopens and floods her taste buds with something like cranberry and copper.  Rachel’s hand grabs her own and redirects it to her side, so Quinn starts that path again, digging deeper than she ever has until she feels tiny spots of stickiness meet her fingers and Rachel’s hips buck up into her.  She straddles a thigh and puts her knee right where Rachel wants it.  Rachel slides against her, moaning loudly each time, and bends her own knee so that Quinn can get some friction as well.

There are parts of Rachel’s skin that are bleeding properly now.  Quinn looks down at the mess she’s created and feels a soft moan escape her own lips.  She grinds down harshly on Rachel’s thigh and her whole body shudders in response.  Rachel looks down, too, and then looks up at Quinn with feral eyes.  Quinn knows what she wants.  She brings her hand up to her mouth to lick her fingers clean (Quinn’s tasted blood before; one time she was on top of the pyramid when it collapsed and she almost bit clean through her own tongue.  She doesn’t remember it ever tasting this _sweet_ ), but Rachel stops her with a hand on her wrist.  So instead she reaches down between Rachel’s legs and feels her way around for a few seconds before she kind of eases two fingers inside, because it’s one thing to scratch the hell out of a person until they bleed, but it’s another thing entirely to just rip someone’s virginity away.  Quinn still remembers very clearly what it felt like when Puck pushed his way inside of her without much warning and she doesn’t plan on doing that to anyone, no matter who they are.

Rachel adjusts after just a few strokes and soon she’s back to whimpering like her life depends on the rhythm of Quinn’s fingers inside of her.  Quinn’s moment of gentleness is over; she quickens her thrusts immediately and attaches her teeth to Rachel’s pulse point.

“Put your hand around my throat,” Rachel moans right in her ear and Quinn swears she almost comes at the sound of it.  She sits up and reaches her free hand down, stretches her fingers all the way around the back of Rachel’s neck and feels her swallow against her palm.  Rachel’s pulse quickens immediately, but she continues to stare at Quinn as her fingers start to tighten slowly and her hand presses down towards the mattress.  Rachel’s hands come up to grip the backs of Quinn’s thighs tightly.  Quinn knows if they slacken that she’ll have gone too far, but for now she continues to squeeze her hand tight around Rachel’s throat as her fingers pump furiously inside of her.

Rachel’s hips rise to meet each thrust even as she struggles to find air.  Quinn puts her whole body behind fucking this girl, and her clit slides roughly against Rachel’s thigh each time.  Rachel’s throat muscles work hard, trying to find breath, trying to release strangled moans, trying to throw her hand off.  Quinn watches as Rachel’s eyes start to flutter and her thigh bucks up into Quinn at just the right moment and she comes apart with a hoarse cry.  Her hand loosens around Rachel’s throat as she comes, but her fingers never stop moving.  Rachel takes a great, gasping breath only to come a second later so hard that her eyes roll back into her head and she slumps back into the sheets, twitching slightly.  Quinn falls onto the bed beside her and waits to see if she recovers.  She does; after a few moments her eyes open slowly and she smiles lazily.  It reminds Quinn of that one time Santana got high when she came over this summer.  After a few seconds, she falls asleep completely.

Quinn waits about fifteen minutes for her body to recover before she gets dressed and leaves.

xx

They fuck at least twice a week.  Each time Rachel comes away with new marks on her body: scratches, bites, and bruises that she somehow manages to find ways to hide once they’re made.  Quinn doesn’t ask how; she hardly says anything to Rachel when they’re together and they don’t speak at all during school.  There isn’t any reason for them to.  They are not friends.  Quinn still hates Rachel no matter how many times the girl lets her wrap her hands around her throat and fuck her until she’s sated and silly.  She actually thinks it’s kind of disgusting, the obvious high that Rachel gets when Quinn makes her bleed.  (She doesn’t think about the high that _she_ gets when Rachel lets her.  That’s not what matters here.  None of this matters.)

This arrangement with Rachel definitely has some sort of affect on her, though.  She is less miserable all the time.  It no longer bothers her to be around all of the couples in glee club despite the fact that she isn’t in a relationship of her own.  It doesn’t even bother her to watch Finn and Rachel make love eyes at each other all day, especially as she notices that the love in Rachel’s eyes becomes a little less after each time that Quinn makes her come so hard she can’t remember her own name.  She gets a sick sense of satisfaction when she imagines the look on Finn’s face when he finds out about all the kinky shit his little whore of a girlfriend is into.

They break up a little before Christmas.  It’s a messy affair that involves a lot of kicked chairs.  Finn dents several lockers with his tree branch arms and yells and whines like a toddler who’s had his favorite sippy cup taken away.  Rachel, for her part, doesn’t shed a single tear; doesn’t even look like she gives the slightest of shits, which makes Quinn wonder just how far this whole ordeal has gone.  For Rachel Berry to break up with a boy without even a hint of dramatics and Broadway overtures is like the equivalent of an apocalypse.  Quinn starts to worry that maybe Rachel has fallen in love with her or something equally disgusting.

She asks as much one afternoon during winter break in between jerking Rachel’s underwear off of her hips and bruising the insides of her thighs with her teeth.  She lifts her head up from between Rachel’s legs and gives her a solid look to see if there’s anything in her expression that shouldn’t be, but she can’t discern anything past the haze of unadulterated lust, so she asks instead.

“You’re not like, in love with me or something are you?” she says, fairly monotonously considering the fact that Rachel’s foot is stroking between her thighs and she’s about ten seconds away from coming for the second time since they’ve started.  It should tell her something, the fact that she hardly has to hurt Rachel at all in order to get worked up to the point of orgasm.

“What are you—oh, _fuck_ ,” Rachel groans, because Quinn has just ripped a scab open with her fingernails on accident, but Rachel acts like it’s the equivalent of being fisted.  “ _What?_ ”

Quinn actually stops touching Rachel because this is really important and it’s not like she talks to Rachel any other time, so.

“I mean you didn’t break up with Finn because you have feelings for me or something, did you?  Because that’s not—”

“Finn was asking too many questions, for once in his life, and I realized that I didn’t love him enough to make it worth dealing with his lack of intelligence and maturity.”  Rachel’s eyes are clearer now and she looks at Quinn carefully.  “I can assure you, Quinn, that the only feelings I have towards you are an appreciation for your abilities in bed and a hope that I never have to see you again after high school.  However, if you feel that things have gotten too complicated between us, I’m sure we could always stop these _rendezvous_ of ours and go back to ignoring one another at all times.”

It must be the look on Rachel’s face, but Quinn is suddenly very fucking annoyed.  “It’s fine, Berry,” she grits out.  “I was just making sure.”  She then proceeds to fuck Rachel harder than she ever has, though for some reason it’s about the least satisfying experience so far.

xx

Quinn realizes a few weeks later that things are _a lot_ more complicated than she thought they were.

She’s standing at her locker in between third and fourth period listening to Santana talk about how she caught Sylvester trying to spike her water bottle with something during gym the other day while she switches her binders out when she suddenly hears the sound of very familiar laughter.  She turns her head to see Rachel smiling up at some kid on the soccer team who is also in their math class.  He’s grinning down at her with a touch of charming that Finn Hudson could never accomplish and when he reaches out to brush a lock of hair behind her ear she blushes and lets out another peal of light, flirty laughter.  Quinn feels a knot of something heavy and dangerous swell up in her chest as he lets his hand linger on her cheek just a second too long.  A brief image flashes through her head of her walking up behind him with something big and heavy—a brick, maybe or one of Sue’s cheerleading trophies—and smashing it into his skull until his brain matter starts to splatter the floor.  It only makes her more aggravated.

“Q, are you listening to me?” Santana asks with irritation, snapping her fingers in front of Quinn’s face.  “What the hell are you looking at?”

Quinn watches as Rachel says her goodbyes and heads off to the bathroom.  She slams her locker shut and starts walking.

“Sorry, S, I’ve got to go.”

“Fucking rude, Fabray!” Santana yells at her back, but she’s already bursting through the bathroom door and locking it behind her.  Rachel looks up in mild surprise.

“Quinn, what—”

But Quinn grabs ahold of her shoulders and slams her against the wall, reveling in the sound her head makes when it connects with tile.  One hand quickly buries its way under Rachel’s skirt while the other squeezes mercilessly at her bicep.  Rachel moans loudly and tips her head back against the wall a second time as Quinn’s fingers enter her without preamble.

“You think you’re cute, don’t you?” she growls, forcing her hand up into Rachel’s cunt with all of her strength.  “Flirting with that guy in front of me.  You think he would fuck you like this?  Think he’ll want you when he sees what I’ve done to you?”  Rachel’s only response is a series of rapidly increasing whimpers and moans.  “You think he’ll still smile at you like that when he realizes you’re just a dirty little whore?”

Rachel comes with a keening gasp and a flood of wetness into Quinn’s hand.  Quinn doesn’t even give her a chance to catch her breath before she’s backing away, unlocking the door and sprinting down the hall.  She tells the nurse she doesn’t feel well and drives herself home, ignoring every text and phone call that comes through for the rest of the day.

xx

Rachel breaks it off with her the next day.

“I think it’s best if we stop what we’re doing.  Clearly it’s gone to a place that neither one of us is comfortable with and it’s better if we focus on making the rest of our senior year as enjoyable as possible.”

Quinn is simultaneously terrified and relieved.  She doesn’t really want to stop because she’s never felt more like herself than when she was making Rachel bleed into her sheets and struggle for breath.  At the same time, she never wants to feel that tight knot of jealousy in her chest when she looks at Rachel again.  Rachel isn’t _hers_ ; Rachel is nothing to her other than a dark blemish on her high school career that she hopes she’ll never have to think about again once she gets out of this useless town and starts living her life for real.  She nods to let Rachel know that she agrees and doesn’t watch when Rachel walks away.

xx

Outside of glee they don’t really speak to each other for the rest of the year, but even that is more than they spoke to one another the entire time they were fucking.  Rachel starts dating the guy from the soccer team, who it turns out is a really good dancer as well, and convinces him to join the club.  He helps them win nationals for the first and only time.

Quinn looks at them together sometimes and wonders if he makes Rachel truly happy or if he’s just another Finn Hudson to her, but occasionally Rachel’s shirt will slip off her shoulder just so or her skirt will slide up a little too high and she’ll catch a glimpse of something that looks like a fingerprint or a bite mark.  She supposes that it’s just something Rachel needs, the same way that she needs to feel someone’s pulse under her hand or blood under her nails to really feel alive.  She knows it’s not _normal_ , but if anything about her life was normal she’d still be Lucy Fabray and her nose would still resemble a potato and she wouldn’t have anything even remotely resembling stretch marks on her body.

They take a group photo at graduation, all the glee kids together, and somehow Quinn ends up next to Rachel with her hand resting gently on Rachel’s lower back.  It’s the lightest touch she’s ever bestowed on her and she has a fleeting urge to curl her fingers up, dig her nails into Rachel’s skin one last time, but then the picture is over and Rachel turns to give her a light hug and a bright smile.  She wishes Rachel luck in New York, Rachel tells her to have fun with Santana and Brittany in L.A., and then they go their separate ways.  It’s the last time Quinn ever sees Rachel Berry in person again, but sometimes when she’s laying in bed at night listening to her husband snore and her children sneak downstairs to the kitchen for a midnight snack, she thinks about her and remembers the feeling of Rachel’s throat against her hand and her skin breaking under the pressure of her fingernails, and she feels whole again for a little while.


End file.
